


pink like the inside of your

by picht



Series: femslash february 2k19 [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Black Hermione Granger, Butch Hermione Granger, Butch/Femme, Character Study, Drabble, Established Relationship, F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February 2019, Fluff, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Introspection, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 08:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17639297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/picht/pseuds/picht
Summary: “Hello, Darling,” Pansy says as she gracefully takes a seat next to Hermione, because she calls Hermione things likedarlingnow. They’re in the library, and Pansy’s nails are painted a pretty pink to match the color staining her lips.//day two of femslash february 2019. prompt: pink. my personal headcanon for hermione is Long Haired Butch(tm) and this fic explores her butchness





	pink like the inside of your

**Author's Note:**

> here it is! day 2! i feel like this is kinda weak ish bc im literally exhausted rn but i wanted to get it done and it is what it is. also: i am not butch Right Now. but i am a big lesbian and also genderfluid and i go through fem vs masc phases which last a few years at a time and hermione's experience with butchness/performing femininity is based off my own experience with it. obv its not the same for everyone, everyones experience is valid, etc. my faceclaim for butch hermione is lena waithe

Hermione has never been a fan of the color pink.

She’d come into her butch identity the summer before eighth year. Spending as much time as possible with her parents (whose memories had been helpfully restored) and somewhat trying to forget the wizarding world as a whole, she had fully immersed herself in all of her dad’s household projects, not using magic once. One day, she’d just finished adjusting the knot of braids on top of her head and had been about to tackle the rest of the unpainted living room walls when Maggie, a childhood friend she’d been reconnecting with, had eyed her speculatively before saying, “You know, you’re kind of butch.”

The comment had been enough to make her pause, overactive brain working to process what her friend had just said. The thing is, she’d never considered it. She’d known that she was a lesbian, yes. And she’d known that her relationship with femininity was unusual, if it existed in the first place. And of course she’d known what it meant, on paper, to be butch; she’d been going to the local LGBT youth group every Thursday of every Summer since she’d turned thirteen. But she’d never put the thoughts together to come to such a conclusion about herself. Maggie had moved on from the comment immediately after making it, though, already painting away, and there was a job to do, after all, so Hermione decided to save the introspection for later.

Laying in bed that night, she thought about it--really, truly considered it. She had never really known how to perform femininity or womanhood in a way that other people seemed to accept without question or comment. Never one for makeup, never one for taming her kinky hair beyond the necessary upkeep, never one for wearing skirts or dresses, never one for _pink_. The closest she’d come had been the Yule Ball in fourth year, which had felt mostly like a big joke because she’d known she was gay then, had just gone with Viktor because she hadn’t known how to turn him down (and also maybe wanted to prove a point to Ron). Along with that, though, she had worn a dress and heels and makeup, and had somehow managed to tame her hair into loose curls using literal magic, and it had felt-- _horrible_.

She hadn’t felt like herself at all. When she’d looked in the mirror, she’d seen a stranger, and she had spent the whole night in a bizarre dissociative state. Everyone had complimented her on her apparent ability to appear conventionally attractive for once, but the only thing she really remembers from that night is how much she had hated it. She’d thought this through that night in the Summer, and she, possessing a logical brain, had come to the conclusion that she kind of _is_ \--butch, that is.

Realizing she was butch felt sort of like coming home. She spent hours researching butch vs femme identity. She wore cargo shorts and ugly trainers, initially as a joke for Maggie, but she’d loved it. She went to a distant cousin’s wedding dressed in a suit and tie, and she’d _loved_ it. And when she arrived at Hogwarts, she had had a new understanding of herself and the world around her.

Pansy Parkinson, however, had been an unexpected variable. A week into the new school year, she’d sidled up to Hermione, Ron, and Harry with Malfoy in tow, murmured soft apologies with a mischievous glint in her eyes, and never really left. A month later they’d shared their first kiss by the Black Lake late at night, and the next day Hermione had written to her parents to tell them about her _girlfriend_.

“Hello, darling,” Pansy says as she gracefully takes a seat next to Hermione, because she calls Hermione things like _darling_ now. They’re in the library, and Pansy’s nails are painted a pretty pink to match the color staining her lips.

“Hi, Pans,” Hermione says, smiling at the other girl. The pink is new; Pansy is quite adept at cosmetic charms, and, as such, changes her nail color every day. Yesterday it had been red, the day before a pastel blue. Hermione still isn’t fond of pink, but she must admit that it looks nice on her girlfriend. “I’m sorry, but if it’s not important, could we catch up later? Only, I’ve been having trouble with this bit and really need to study.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine, dear,” Pansy says, but there’s a small smile on her face as she nods her agreement to leave Hermione alone. She leans in for a quick kiss goodbye, and Hermione can feel her lipstick transfer. When Pansy pulls back, she laughs her soft, aristocratic laugh and says, “You’ve got a bit of something on you,” before pulling a compact out of her bag and handing it to Hermione so that she can use the mirror to fix her lips.

When Hermione flips it open and looks at herself, lips smudged pink, she feels silly, but not… _bad_. She’s butch, she doesn’t like pink, and she’s never felt comfortable in makeup. But something about the fact that it was Pansy’s lips which put the product there makes her almost like it.

She looks at herself once more before closing the compact and handing it back to Pansy. She does not wipe the lipstick off.

**Author's Note:**

> once again if u liked this u should follow me on tumblr @ wheelchairlesbian


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